The Baron von Stev rode out with his supposed troop until night fell. They camped without a campfire or tents and roused well before dawn.
They were an hour up the dirty path when they came across a burnt farm, and a small cadre of tents nearby in an empty field, with armored horses shifting about freely, eating at whatever grass they could find. The occupants were supposed to be Stev's Knights. One Hundred heavily armored, armed, and highly trained men who were a step up above the dregs.
They were all dead.
Stev and the ten footmen and one necromancer of the lowest order slipped through the tents, checked the perimeter, even the scorched earth around the burned farm. Many of the knights had their throats slashed while sleeping on their bedrolls in the tents or while standing guard. Few died cut to pieces or had their armored chests caved in by some horrendous force. Only one Stev barely recognized to be one of the Knights, had their armor stripped, tied to a tree, flayed, then drawn and quartered like an animal, what was left of their face was twisted in agony.
"Should I raise them?" the Necromancer asked rather hopefully.
The blacked robed being, leaning on the staff smelled a different kind of death that permeated the air, and Stev gave them a disgusted look. The Necromancer's face was as gaunt as a skull with blue irises surrounded by a sick yellow meant to be the eyes' whites. It was hard to tell if the Necromancer was male or female, their frame covered by their heavy robe.
This being was revolting to all of Stev's senses, but they were mindful enough to keep their tongue in check around the thing. Though little more than an Acolyte, lowest throng on the rung of Necromancy, this disgusting creature was outside of Stev's command. The Baron could not order this being directly, nor could they do the same. All they could do was offer each other little more than strong suggestions and opinions, as the Necromancer was doing now.
With a dismissive gesture, Stev returned to his horse, "No, we do not have the time for a lengthy spell to bring them back, and then again why would we?"
"They failed me twice over, once for obviously not killing the child, and a second time for being slain in what appears to be an obvious ambush by Imperial Forces," Stev mounted his horse and peered around at the rest of the Footman, who was quickly on the move to join him. "We know they had to go east, yet is there any trace of the enemy who slaughtered these fools?"
"None sire!" someone called up, one of the more grizzled of the footmen. "It would take time to judge the strength of arms of those who slew your men,"
"And time we do not have," Stev growled, "We go east, all reports show that our prey heads for the Instaria port of Myra. We at least must confirm if they are still heading that way and slow them down enough so our main force can arrive,"
"Baron," the Necromancer started to object.
"Lord-Commander Ivyn has already made it clear we could ill afford the loss of these Knights and they are lost," Stev growled at the Necromancer, "But we were told that Gerik was alone, there is no way he could have done this on his own, not without an army,"
"So I aim to run down Gerik and the Girl, and this force, and at least get a good read on how many are under his command," Stev nodded eastward, "With luck, we can cut ahead and plan an ambush, or a trap, or something, perhaps a graveyard for you to pilfer and spread the word of Hardran,"
"A desperate plan," the Necromancer smiled and hobbled on their staff to their own horse, "Such used by those blind fools who defeated our previous King. Glory or Death and I will share in both for my own reasons,"
"Ah, someone of ambition?" Stev asked, rather surprised at the enthusiasm the Necromancer took to the Baron's jumbled scheme.
"How much favor one will garner in bringing the head of the Chosen to the King Handran?" the Necromancer asked in return, cackling at their own thoughts of it, "With their blood in jars, boiled black and tainted with darkness, with that horrid Cleric shambling, dead and on a leash?"
"Plenty to share for all of us," Stev agreed and ordered his troop East at full gallop.
<><><><><><><>
Gerik's sleep had been peaceful, on the verge of being blissful. The Old Inquisitorial Cleric almost forgot the dire situation he and Yule were in, with the air still smelling of that delicious stew brewed by that dazzling lizard woman thing.
Yet the cold hand of evil slid down Gerik's back, and his eyes snapped open. The others were on the verge of stirring themselves awake as Gerik propped himself up and darted for the source of that chilling sensation, and found, hovering over their own wooden bowl of cold food, had been, something.
The morning stupor had yet cleared from his eyes, yet Gerik had been keenly aware that the cloaked thing was not here when sleep claimed him. It had a heavy black cloak, far too big for it draped over its shoulders and obscured its body. A blue hood protruding upward from the black cloth hid much of its head and eyes, though, sharp ears protrude through slits in the hood. The ears were covered in fur, blood red, and shifting slightly on their own accord at the sounds of those starting to stir in the camp. A part of a muzzle could be seen sticking out of the hood as it fed itself quietly as if taking special care not to disturb those around him.
The dragon, thing, Avina, had been the first to acknowledge the creature, having moved over to nudge at its knee. A red fur covered hand reached out and patted the snout before Avina made its way to Rial to nudge the Dark Elf awake.
"How long have you been back?" Mathias asked, yet seeing that they knew the being did not help Gerik at all, nor did he catch the reply.
Within that thing that returned to its eating had been something sinister, something evil and bleeding hatred and rage like a fountain spewing water. Out of reflex alone, Gerik had taken up his weapon of choice and sprang to his feet.
"Jeri!" Rial hissed at the thing, and Jeri regarded them, having stopped eating to turn with muzzle towards the Dark Elf. Then the Drow said something that garnered Gerik's attention, "Dammit, did you kill Kor?"
"No," the thing, Jeri, grunted in their own annoyance, and though Gerik could sense the murderous aura surrounding that creature, the Cleric could hear the honesty ring truer in that one word than the taint around Rial.
"He looks dead," Rial stated, and Gerik followed those violet eyes of the Elf to where Kor had posted watch. "Oh never mind, Inra? Inra!"
The Golden lady was curled on their bedroll, and yawned lazily, peering around for who called her, "Yes?"
"Kor is out cold,"
"Jeri," Inra concluded immediately, a tight frown on her own muzzle as she glared a moment for said being, "Do not touch him again you little cretin,"
"Technically-" the Jeri started with a snort of contempt.
Inra, knowing where Jeri was going with their line of thought, was already on her feet and pointing at them with their Maul, "-with anything. Your little feud has got to end, it was a long time ago,"
"And I will never forget it," Jeri growled darkly, then returned to their bowl without another word.
There was hate in those words as much as it bled from the little being. Soon it took note of Gerik standing it lowered the bowl to look up at them, pulling back the hood to reveal itself.
It was some sort of, fox, man, thing. Its head and face were distinctly animal, its eyes gold with predatory slits, yet the body was human-like They even had what looked like hair, dark brown, and combed backward on their head, though loose strands freed from the hood were starting to pool around their face. Even sitting down Gerik could measure that they were perhaps, just over five feet if that. What was even more unnerving is that Gerik saw dark circles, bruising of sorts, around the golden eyes, that stared through Gerik as if they were little more than air, not at all threatened by their clutching weapon.
"Something in my teeth?" Jeri asked, flashing Gerik pale yellow canines before licking its lips and returning to eating its stew.
"Gerik, Jeri," Rial needlessly introduced the being, "And that-" Rial gestured towards the spiked mace in Gerik's hand, "-Is really not a good idea with him,"
As if realizing they had armed themselves, Gerik simply glanced at their own weapon, before once more returning his eyes to the, animal, named Jeri. The creature stared through Gerik for a spoonful, before relaxing again, their eyes drifting downward to the contents of the bowl.
"So how many?" Rial asked knowingly, not waiting for Gerik's reaction. "How many did you kill?"
"A few," Jeri replied dismissively.
On impulse alone, Gerik blurted out, "He's lying," However it was not just his voice, it had been Inra's as well.
Jeri lowered the bowl again, looking from Rial to Inra, to Gerik. Human-like realization played across that fur-covered face, followed by disgust. "Fucking Paladins,"
The ears folded back against Jeri's head, and they reached behind themselves to pull a sword across their lap. A bastard sword perhaps, a greatsword for someone of Jeri's stature, the wrap concealing the blade was little more than cloth, perhaps a blanket. It had a golden hilt, rich brown leather wrappings, and a golden ball at the end. Gerik could feel that black aura of evil dissipate almost immediately, though the Fox thing was obviously annoyed with having to balance the sword and hold the bowl.
"Language," Rial stated as Jeri put the sword across their lap.
"Fine," Jeri rolled their eyes, then brought the bowl once more to their face.
"How many?" Rial repeated sternly.
"More than a few," Jeri replied evenly, "Less than a lot,"
"Jeri-," Rial started to sound vexed with the beings' lack of cooperation
"-I didn't count," Jeri finally admitted, and though Gerik could not feel that cold evil, the thing was telling the truth. "Most of them in their sleep, a few directly, one was already dead, killed by a farmer with a pitchfork,"
"Heavy Cavalry. High-quality armor and sword, descent training but arrogant, they were not expecting any sort of threat. They murdered the farmer and his wife of a farm at the end of the path. The farmer died quick, the wife did not," Jeri murmured between mouthfuls, "Last one I extracted a bit of information out of, they serve some nutter named Handman or something, got lost between their blubbering for their mother,"
As Jeri observed how the last one blubbered for their mother, a cruel smile touched his face momentarily.
"After I buried the pair of souls murdered by those cowards, I looted the place of supplies and put the goods in their cart, burned down the farm, and hid some horses between here and there," Jeri finished both the bowl and speaking apparently. They tossed their finished dish to Mathias, adjusted their odd hair before pulling their hood up, and cradled that cloth wrapped sword across their cloaked chest.
"How many, really?" Mathias demanded, raising a brow at the creature.
Jeri did not reply, instead, they brought out a pipe from a pack that leaned against them, and stuck one end into the folds of their hood.
Kor, having been brought to consciousness, offered a grown and leaned up, touching his head to gripe loudly, "He hit me with his sword!"
Inra tended to Kor, offering the man a one-armed hug and a kiss on the head, before helping them to their feet. Rial, tilting their head back a moment to stare up at the canopy above, sighing long and hard.
"Jeri stop tormenting Kor," the Dark Elf ordered like an exhausted parent. "It was funny the first few dozen times but we need him,"
"You need him," Jeri corrected sharply, obviously insulted.
Rial's tone became serious. "Yes, I need him, to protect the girl, who is still asleep by the way,"
The body of Jeri stiffened noticeably and leaned up to search the camp for the sleeping child. Gerik noted that once Jeri noted the child, they haunched up again and removed the pipe without lighting it.
"Right, go back and linger around, make sure there are no immediate reinforcements, Mathias go secure those horses,"
"They have armor on them," Jeri observed as he stood up, and turned to leave.
"I know what to do," Mathias cut Rial off as they turned to him, "And since no one is around it will be easier to hide the armor,"
"If you find a map-," Rial started to say anyway.
Mathias nodded, "-Gerik will get it," and quickly gathered himself, and followed after the strange creature.
When they were gone, and the others started to break camp, Gerik could not help but stare out after where the thing, Jeri, had slinked off too.
"What was that?!" the old Inquisitor blurted out in shock.
"Complicated," Rial answered, pausing in picking up his bedroll. "So long as we are all committed to protecting Yule, Jeri will not a problem,"
"That thing is evil,"
It was Inra who spoke up now, putting their hands on their hips, "That thing has slain the enemy at our fore, avenged and buried their victims, and provided means of transport for us,"
With a snap of her tail, the Golden Broodling jabbed a talon tipped finger Gerik's way, "That thing also has a name, that is very rude of your my Lord Geric, I am very disappointed,"
Shame gripped at Gerik, and the Old Cleric bowed towards Inra, "I am sorry, my lady, it is just, I am being overwhelmed with this weirdness of, well-"
They started to fumble, and Inra rolled her eyes as Kor stifled a laugh, "-do not fret yourself with an apology, Jeri is evil, there is no denying that, he can give me a migraine if he lingers too far away from his Diplomacy,"
"Diplomacy?"
"Another complication," Rial offered up with a deep sigh, "Look, we are a sorted bunch, with a sorted set of paths but you know we are here to help, just, stay away from, that,"
"Rial!" Inra grunted, now turning her disappointed gaze on the Dark Elf.
"I've known him longer," Rial retorted without meeting her gaze, "I'll call that murderous little shite whatever I want,"
"Langage!" little Yule parrotted as she leaned up, sleepily pointing in Rials direction.
The Dark Elf gave her an indignant glare before Avina seemed to reinforce Yule by offering her own series of chirps at Rial as if chastising him.
Giving an overly exaggerated sigh of defeat, Rial bowed his head where he stood, "Sorry, Yule, I owe you a sweet roll for the swear don't I?"
"Yes, sir you do!" Yule instantly perked up, quickly scrambling to her feet.
Gerik interjected, waving a finger towards Yule, "Pack your belongings first, young lady, then we can discuss breakfast,"
Yule's head bobbed once, and she set about doing as she was asked, "Yes Uncle Rik!"
As they progressed, Rial straightened once more and sniffed the air. Inra did the same thing, and Kor hesitated a moment to glance over their shoulder, before starting to pack faster.
Gerik was about to ask before he smelled himself.
Smoke, coming from the West.
<><><><><><><>
The nameless spat on the map was completely on fire with parts little more than smoldering ruin by the time the morning sun started to rise. That was Ivyn's goal, to ensure the pursuit would be delayed by leaving destruction in his wake. Yet Ivyn knew it would not last, this was, as far as he was concerned, a one-way trip. Baron von Stev and Ameri were the best tools to use, but Ivyn knew better. They were a vanguard, an expendable one. The inevitable had to happen.
And it finally did, one of the lower-tiered breathers came rushing over to where the tents were being broken down to offer their report. A group of souls, flanked by soldiers bearing Instarian colors, were fleeing north. Apparently, there had been a secret pathway that Ivyn was sure Ameri would have found if he had kept her around to scout the area as the battle progressed.
Second, a very sizable force was coming up behind Ivyn's position, and the banners took the man by surprise.
They were Hardran's, led by the Undead King himself. There were thousands of souls in the dark armor, both on foot and riding steeds accustomed to the shambling dead things that lingered around the living host like a shield. At the forefront, neither carried on by beast or touching ground had been Hardran Malikor, son of Belor Malikor, King of All Realms.
The flesh on their face was taught, their nose rotted off, their eyes offering a soft red glow as they stared unblinking forward. There were missing teeth revealed by a permanent smirk, and their armor, as heavy as the one worn by the knights that surrounded him, was concealed partially by a black robe that barely touched the grass beneath his feet. And on their hip had been a simple spike mace, though, like the rest of the floating Lord of Death, was stained in old gore. Every inch of the black metal protecting their body not caked in browning blood had etched runes of arcane spells beyond anyone's understanding, with the tips of the boots and the wicked gauntlets on Hadram's hands dipped in tarnished gold that did not shine in any sort of light.
On top of the dull silver mail hood that Hadram wore, had been a glistening gold crown, the only real clean metal on them, with shimmering gemstones strangely placed on extended branches, helping to single the King of the Undead out more so than the floating.
Ivyn, without hesitation, took a knee long before it was necessary, which many others followed suit as their Lord Hadram's forces approached. With a raised digit Hadram halted the advance less than a dozen paces from Ivyn's camp and floated ever closer to their chosen Commander.
"I know you are surprised to see me," Hardran announced, their voice dark, and low, though their lips did not move, and their words could be heard scratching at the back of Ivyn's mind. "But you left a hole, must inviting, in the Empire's lines,"
"I have failed to kill the girl so far, my Master," Ivyn reported, keeping their head bowed.
"Who is to blame for that failure?" Hardran asked, though their tone did not hint to any anger. "Uncontrollable subordinates?"
"The Failure is Ultimately mine, my Master," Ivyn admitted without shame, "I am the one in charge of this expedition,"
"And that is why I placed you in charge, Lord Ivyn, instead of blaming others for their faults or pushing forward a scapegoat, you do not waste my time," Hardran lowered themselves, and finally placed their feet on the ground. Instantly the grass curled, blackened and died, Ivyn watched, and did not move. "Though I will not hold you responsible, rise, my Commander, and tell me what has transpired,"
Ivyn rose, sidestepped Hardran but never once straightened from their humble bow, outstretching an arm towards his tent where the table and map were still on display.
"Baron von Stev used initiative to send half his cavalry into the wood ahead of us, my Master," Ivyn pointed out. "I sent him out yesterday afternoon, there has still been no word from him,"
Hardran stared downward unblinkingly, and though that smirk never faded, Ivyn heard the grunt in his mind, "Foolish, he depleted a valuable shield, you sent him to see if his net caught a fish I see, and I assume Ameri has been deployed south as well? Yes. just in case Gerik's last shred of honor sparkles through the taint on his soul."
"Yes, my Master, you have deduced my stratagem,"
"It was the only one available to you," Hardran raised their hand, and dismissed anything else Ivyn could say, "Do not be hard on the Baron, he only seeks to ensure my safety, and the Huntress is a whore, I would lobotomize her if I did not need her skill set,��
"The Empire, with an exception, has withdrawn North, the only City Left this far south worth defending is Myla, and they will not be able to save it once we reach it," Hardran started to explain, "You are not the only pieces I fielded, and though the fleet at the Port of Myla is vast, there are few boats capable of making the journey across the sea,"
"Victory is near, my Master,"
Hardran reached over and made a calming gesture at Ivyn. "Do not under-estimate the Dewstars, their Gods are with them, and they will do everything to ensure their little prophecy is fulfilled."
"Yet their luck is running out," Hardran countered themselves, "Every move Gerik makes is one of desperation, and the Church is catching up to him. A little bird told me that a full Contingent of Paladins is already on a lookout for him and the girl at Myla. They are to arrest him on sight, the girl placed into protective custody with an army dispatched from Legross and Murcia to ensure her safety,"
Ivyn, turned to the map on the table, tracing their finger over the names of Legross and Murcia. "It is a six-day march from Legross, and it is the closest,"
"And Myla is only a four-day march," Handran laughed wickedly, "And you, my Lord Commander, have been cracking defenses like eggshells with a carpenter's mallet, now I bring forth a warhammer for you to wield,"
"Why wait until we break camp here, my Master," Ivyn observed with no joy or enthusiasm, just the deadpan, matter-of-fact tone they held through-out. They pointed down at the map, indicating a river that lay between the forest, and the Port City of Myla. "Send forth the dead, they will reach the river before the living host, and reek chaos before we arrive,"
"Coordinated with a few of your apprentices, they may even claim this fortified bridge before the third day," Ivyn pointed out, turning to bow towards Handran, "Then we will have two days to siege Myla, and I, personally, guarantee I will be within the gates before the first afternoon,"
Handran nodded, "Not guaranteeing me the child?"
"I do not offer up such promises that are tied to fate, Master," Ivyn replied, though there had been an edge of caution in his words, knowing that it was a lancing question. "Walls I can break,"
"The child I could crush if she holds still long enough,"
<><><><><><><>
"How many?" Rial questioned as they arrived at the clearing. Inra had walked beside the Dark Elf, and Kor had slipped off his horse and headed for the other end of the field. Gerik had Yule in the saddle with him, careering their weapon in a free hand, and they gawked at the level of death around them.
"Twelve," Mathias reported, "They haven't been gone long,"
Rial straightened on the horse they were provided, peering around as they realized someone important was missing, "Jeri?"
"Present," the Foxkin voiced, they were milling through the dead, and were obscured by a tent, "Looking for coffers and cartography,"
"They were in a hurry it seemed, they rode in, did a quick walkthrough, and rode out," Mathias gestured up the road in the direction they needed to go.
"Could be setting an ambush," Rial deduced, "Fetch the wagon, we need to move,"
"Jeri!" the Dark Elf called out, and after a moment, the Foxkin presented themselves, cradling the sword in their arms, puffing away at a lit pipe. That cloak, Gerik realized, had been lifted off one of the Dead Knights, and dragged behind them without a care.
Rial, after Jeri was close enough, simply said, "A magical artifact that grants undeath,"
Standing there, with head bowed, Jeri's ears straightened and shifted slightly as the creature stared at the horse Rial rode on. Gerik watched with interest as the fox-like thing pondered on a statement, not question, from their party leader.
"Soul transference device, self-made to instill one soul into a proper phylactery," Jeri rattled off before looking back up with a very cruel smile on their muzzle, "Are we fighting a Lich?"
"They destroyed the device some years ago," Rial gestured towards Gerrik, though Jeri did not follow the motion, still staring up at Rial, their face frozen with that horrible smile, "This Hardran that is chasing Yule used a part of it to make themselves undead,"
"Then the phylactery would be of poor design, he would have to keep it near him or his physical form will deteriorate and collapse," Jeri informed Rial, and the Dark Elf nodded.
Gerik could not help himself, "How do you know so much about this form of Dark Magics?"
Jeri did not answer, they simply turned their gaze towards the Inquisitor, that smile evaporating as they fell, not on Gerik, but instead of Yule. Jerry instantly removed the pipe and doused the smoldering leaves as Yule squealed.
"It's a puppy!"
Rial and Inra laughed sharply, as Jeri turned around, and marched right back out into the tents, their fox-like tail flicking like an annoyed animal.
Yule, still excited, bounced up and down on the horse, "Can I pet it, Uncle Rial?"
Inra giggled, "Please do!"
Rial barely managed out a "Please don't!" before Yule wiggled off the horse.
"Yule stay near me!" Gerik called after Yule, "Stay away from the tents!"
It was too late, all the enthusiasm from the little one faded, and she quickly backpedaled to the horse, shocked, but not frightened. It was not the first time she had seen a corpse, but she quickly reached up for Gerik.
The Old Cleric sighed sadly, as he slipped from the horse, and picked her up, his own gaze sweeping over what lay before him, cupping her head. "It's alright little one, Uncle Rik has you,"
"They were bad people?" Yule questioned quietly, "Trying to hurt us?"
"Yes little one, they were bad people,"
Rial shifted their horse away, yet Inra remained, looking on both Gerik and Yule solemnly, "No child should see this, come, bring her to the wagon,"
Gerik carried Yule over, telling her to close her eyes as he did so. As Yule clung to him, Gerik could not help but feel a growing sense of dread as his eyes lingered over the bodies. The old Inquisitor remembered that cold, horrific evil before that strange sword snuffed out Jeri's aura of murderous hatred, and they shivered.
The wagon was typical of the region. Four wheels, reinforced with iron spokes, and a guide for two farm horses to pull it along. Inside there was hay, and taking a glance inside, there were several barrels of fruit, and water, the supplies Jeri appropriated for them.
After passing Yule to Inra, Gerik turned to study the area once more. There, beyond the ruin of the home that Jeri burned, there were sticks with something carved into blanks tied to them. The sticks protruded on top mounds of freshly dug dirt, with the grass around the mounds untouched by the fire.
Walking over, Gerik found, inscribed in common, the word Avenged with nothing else on the planks.
Jeri was evil. Gerik sensed it, Inra did not deny it. Now there were more questions forming in the back of Gerik's mind. He was, after all, an Inquisitor, a truth-seeker, someone who asked questions and found answers. What sort of evil thing would take the time to bury the dead?
Walking back, Gerik found everyone else had assembled and were waiting for him.
"Offering them a prayer?" Inra questioned.
Gerik took a moment, and shook his head, "No, curious to know why they were buried and not left where they lay,"
"What I do with my time is my business," Jeri retorted curtly, not bothering to look in Gerik's direction. Gerik expected more, but that blunt almost insulted sounded statement had been it. Jeri simply placed the pipe between their lips, unlit, and let it hang there with the awkward silence.
Rial waited for a heartbeat more, half expecting Jeri to keep going himself. Realizing the Foxkin was done, the Dark Elf passed Gerik an unfolded parchment. "We found this on one of the higher-ranking officers,"
Without having to study it too much, Gerik nodded, "This is an old dwarven map of Ishtaria, from one of the old wars we had of them. It is accurate to a point of this region, but it lacks the Port of Shelby to the south, as well as a dozen villages or so, it just marks it all as a black spot,"
"Another port?" Rial questioned, "Why not head there? It's obvious they know where you are going,"
"It's a small fishing port at the very tip of the Empire, no walls, no importance. It would take weeks to get there overland because there is no real direct route short of the coastlands outside of using a ship. In fact, the safest way to get the Shelby is through Myra,"
"In fact, that was the original plan before I fled with Yule," Gerik finished, offering the map back to Rial. "Lashfield is a Fortified Port City opposite of Myra, though more towards the Northern Ice-Swamps. We were to take an armada, and, well, the massacre happened,"
"Ice-Swamps?" Inra asked, disgusted, "I do not like the sound of these, Ice-Swamps,"
"Something to contend with after Yule is safely tucked away from harm," Rial glanced at the map, before folding it up and putting it away beneath their leather breastplate, "Right, there may be an ambush ahead, and we need to get moving. How fast can we get to Myra?"
"By horse and wagon? Two days, maybe before nightfall of the second day if we make haste," Gerik answered quickly.
Rial nodded at the information, "Right, Gerik ride in the wagon with Yule. Inra will share driving duties with you, Mathias you are upfront, go ahead and get some distance,"
The Dark Elf turned and made a gesture to Avina, "Flying scout, Kor take up the rear."
Then they simply turned to Jeri. They stared at the Foxkin for the longest, as if trying to figure out the best way to place them.
"You've potions?" Rial asked finally.
Jeri patted a pouch barely visible from the cloak they wore. "Weeks worth,"
"Can you stretch it?"
"By not sleeping,"
That answer did not sit well with the Dark Elf, and they instantly turned once more towards the Old Inquisitor.
"Gerik, do you have apothecaries in Myra?"
"If the City had kept them, yes," Gerik again found himself paying close attention to the exchange.
"Do they have sleeping potions?"
That question sent alarms off in Gerik's mind, and they frowned darkly, "Why?"
"Because I need them to sleep," Jeri stated bluntly. "What sort of stupid question was that?"
"It is expensive, but too much is lethal," Gerik shot back, yet Jeri was telling the truth. It was an odd sensation considering Gerik could not sense anything other than the Foxkin's honesty at this point in time. Their heart was a blank slate otherwise, and it was unnerving. "I would know what my allies intended the use of such a poison before I answer,"
"Especially if I am the one carrying enough of that stuff to kill a sizable village," Jeri pointed out, and offered that malicious smile to Gerik, "It is good to question my motives, but it was Rial asking the question, not me,"
"As I said, I need the potions to sleep, call it a curse if you like, one of many having to be around you furless freaks all of the time," Jeri explained cooly, and gestured out towards the Tents, "As for expenses, our friends here graciously donated a very sizable position of coin to the cause,"
"Stealing from the dead," Gerik uttered, obviously not approving of Jeri's methods.
"I'm not hearing the dead rapists, murderers, and potential child killers complaining about empty purses," Jeri stated, that smile seeming to widen, "Do you?"
"Enough," Rial reached down and smacked Jeri in the back of the head, yet other than a slight shift in their posture, Jeri did not react. "Jeri, take a potion and get sleep in the wagon, we are going to need you to pull guard duty,"
Gerik did not like that, and before they could protest, Yule popped over the lip of the side of the wagon, and asked excitedly, "The puppy is going to ride with us?"
That smile on Jeri's face evaporated, and though they pulled the hood back, they did not look directly at Yule. Despite the difference of species beyond the pale, Gerik could tell Jeri was very annoyed at being called a 'puppy'.
"I'm not a pup, little one," the Foxkin observed calmly, "My name is Uncle Jeri,"
"Uncle Jeri the Puppy!" Yule explained teasingly.
Jeri's face was locked into a rather indifferent mask, though they produced a cloth wrapped sweet roll from beneath their cloak, holding it up for Yule's immediate attention. "I'll give you this if you just call me Uncle Jeri,"
"Just Uncle Jeri!" Yule exclaimed and snatched the roll away to disappear out of view, even as Gerik tried to stop her.
"Do not give her strange rolls!" Gerik nearly snarled at Jeri.
That smile returned on Jeri's muzzle, "Strange? It came from your pack,"
Gerik blinked a moment, and then a new flash of indignanty rage went up his spine, "You went through my pack!?"
"Don't think you're special," Jeri snorted and crawled up into the wagon without further regard. "I go through everyone's pack,"
Again, Rial reached over as Jeri reached the peak of the side, and smacked the Foxkin in the back of the head once more, and sent them tumbling into the wagon, "Shut up! Best behavior!"
"Don't listen to him, Gerik," Rial offered like an apologetic parent. The Dark Elf looked exasperated, and they scowled after Jeri, "And if I catch you in anyone else's pack, you furry little scruff ball, Inra won't be able to fix the damage!"